


Cooking Lessons

by Serenitydusk



Category: Antisepticeye - Fandom, jacksepticeye
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 10:36:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15794781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenitydusk/pseuds/Serenitydusk
Summary: This takes place after the events in "Everyone Needs a Break"Teaching Anti how to cook.





	Cooking Lessons

Ever since the pancake incident, the guys have been much more helpful around the house with chores. However, the kitchen remained your domain. You liked cooking, found it peaceful, a creative outlet as you tried new things. It was the one thing that you and you alone did. Sure, Chase knew how to cook a few things, and Dark apparently was quite good at it, but he didn’t care to cook. As for the rest, it was just safer for everyone if they just did clean up afterward. The guys knew the kitchen was off limits from their shenanigans while you were cooking. So, when one evening Anti showed up and hovered, it caught you off guard.

“Hey, shoo. I’m cooking.” You flicked your fingers towards the door and turned back to the stove. His shadow fell across you, as he peered over your shoulder.

“Whatcha cooking?”

“Dinner, Anti. Now go.” He moved back, but only to hop up on the counter.

You sighed in exasperation, “Your ass is where I prepare the food we eat! Get your butt down.”

He grinned at you, not the least bit repentant. “How do you know what to do? You’re not even using a recipe.” He watched you as you stirred and seasoned.

“Butt. Down. Now.” He slid off the counter, wicked grin still in place. “I’ve been cooking lasagna for a while now. I don’t need a recipe.”

“Who taught you to cook? Your mum?”

“Oh, no.” You laugh wryly. “I mostly taught myself. My mom was a horrible cook. I also had a friend’s mom teach me some stuff.”  You went to the fridge and started pulling out stuff for a salad. “She wanted all of her kids, boys and girls both, not to mention us strays, to know how to cook, at least the basics.”

Anti watched you as you rinsed off the vegetables and grabbed a cutting board. “Can I help?”

“You want to learn how to cook?” You stopped what you were doing to look at him. Was he being serious or was this the start of one of his pranks?

“Maybe.” The grin was gone, as he watched you, waiting for your response. His sudden glitching told you this was a serious request, and not just him fucking around.

“Alright, what the hell. Here, you can start with chopping vegetables. You’re good with a knife, right?”

He snorted, “Bitch, I’m bomb with a knife.”

You pin him with a stare and arched brow, “You’ll pay for that later, glitch boy.”

The unrepentant grin was back, “Bet.”

Setting the cutting board down, you hand him a knife, “Have at it.” To your surprise, he picked up the knife and did a reasonable job cutting up the vegetables. He wasn’t especially fast, but it wouldn’t take much before he would be out-chopping any professional chef. What he didn’t have in speed, he made up for in accuracy. You were duly impressed.

“You don’t have to look so surprised.” He cut his eyes at you. “You know I’m good with a knife, and I’ve been watching the cooking channel.”

Chuckling, “There’s a difference between chopping up food and stabby stabby. But I’ll admit, you’re decent.”

He snorted and gave you the finger, making you laugh even harder. You left him to finish the rest of the vegetables, while you started assembling the lasagna. He would occasionally ask questions, but otherwise, you both fell into a comfortable silence.

Finally, everything was prepared or baking away. You were cleaning up a few things, when Anti asked, “Do you just throw this away?” pointing to a little bit of the cheese mixture.

“Oh no! That’s for us. Our treat. Here, I’ll show you.” You saved the end pieces from the loaf of bread when you made garlic bread. Tearing out the soft bread in the middle, you made a little pocket, then brushed it all over with the garlic butter. Filling the pocket with the last little bit of the cheese mixture, you stuck the bread in the oven, wrapped in foil.  

After ten minutes you pulled it out and let it cool, then handed one of them to Anti. “Cook’s treat.”

You both scarfed it down, dipping in the last bit of marinara and garlic butter. Anti licked his finger, and groaned, “That was good! Why didn’t we make more?”

Laughing at his forlorn expression, “That’s why it’s a treat. Just a little something before the main course, and not ruin your appetite. Come on, we have a while before the lasagna’s done. Let’s get the kitchen cleaned up a little.” Heading to the sink, you start running some water.

Grumbling a little, “Ugh, not my turn for dishes.”

“You saying you don’t want to play in hot, soapy water with me?” You laugh at his sulk.

Coming up behind you, he presses against your back, planting little kisses down your neck, “Hot, soapy water, yes. Dishes, no.” His hands lightly run down your shoulders and arms, sending little shocks into the water, when you keep trying to wash dishes.

“Ow!” You whack his arm, mostly in play. “We don’t have time for that.”

He keeps kissing you, moving to the side of your throat and toying with that bit of skin right above the waistline of your jeans, “We have more than enough time. It’ll be a treat.” He nipped your shoulder. “Before the main course later.”

You groan and roll your eyes, chuckling, but are persuaded to abandon washing dishes when his nimble hands slip lower. 


End file.
